Light the Day
by kiku65
Summary: I litle look at LifeDay in a city ruined by war. Lots of angst, a little humour. Read to get an opinion, review to post the opinion. Give the OCs a chance, people.
1. Chapter 1

**Candle burns**

In tribute to those who took part in

the Christmas Truce, 1914.

And to those who fight now, in the time of peace and goodwill.

_Nos memor_

We remember

**Chapter 1: Restuss, Rori, 2 days before Life-Day **

It was raining, a hard, piercing, persistent rain that soak those unfortunate enough to face it with clinging dew that clammed up already chilled skins and wormed its way into the meagre shelters built out of rocks and torn tarps along the walls. The dish-shaped space created by the old starport- now blown to rubble and dust by the fighting- glistened like the skin of something living, about to smother the ones who huddled under its damaged walls.

Sergeant Hake peered over the makeshift barricade, spitting dirty rainwater from his mouth and shivering under the greasy layers of his old gunman's duster. Balancing precariously on a founding stone part-way up, he squinted through the curtains of droplets to the smoke less than fifty feet away, the smoke of the enemy.

"Sarge?"

He turned, seeing a shivering Corporal known only as 'Moth' for his quietness and large eyes. The man was waving something, calling up at his superior.

"It's the brass, sarge! Got our orders!"

The rest of the men- remnants of the spec-ops command sent down weeks ago, to hold the ruined city from Imperial takeover- gathered around as Hake slid down the rubble and grabbed the datapad Moth was holding. Green letters gleamed through the bulbs of water, reflecting in a rainbow. He read it out and stifled a groan.

"What's the news sarge?" someone shouted.

He looked up and cleared his throat. "Hard luck lads. HQ needs us here another few days."

There was a collective moan, and a fit of harsh coughing from one of the newbs.

"But that's what they said last time!" the spokesman complained.

Hake shrugged, water cascading down his back. "And they're saying it this time as well. That's life."

"But we'll be stuck here all over Life-Day!" someone yelled, "up to our arses in water..."

"...no fires, no decent food..."

"...getting shot at every day for no pay..."

"...and we ran out of caff yesterday!"

"This is the _Rebellion_, lads," Hake reminded them. "Quite often there isn't pay, fires or food."

"Yeah but _caff_..."

"Shut up." He looked around. "You and you-" he pointed at the least-tired looking of the soldiers. "Get up on lookout, blasters at the ready. Moth, get some stoves working, we'll need something hot tonight-"

"Like every other bloody night," someone muttered.

"- Reedy, gather up those medpacks and put them somewhere drier," he carried on, ignoring the aside. "Nat, fix those shelters up, the roofs are leaking. The rest of you break out some rat packs and start stewing. And keep under cover... Garth, come with me a moment will you?"

The lanky, dark-haired teenager broke away from the main group, still hacking out a rough symphony of dry coughs. His pale face gleamed with rain, hair falling in an untidy mop.

Hake pulled him over under the walls' shelter. He spoke quietly. "Garth, can't Reedy do anything about that throat infection? You haven't let up for weeks now."

"H-h-he t-tried sarge," the newb stuttered out between painful hacks. "Th-the stuff d-didn't work. It-it's in my lungs now, he said."

"Kid, if you keep on going out in all weathers with it..." he stopped and sighed. Garth had no choice, anymore than the rest of them did. "Get under cover and try to dry out. I'll make Flis do your lookout tonight, let you get some rest."

"Th-thanks sarge," the boy rasped out, trying to smile. He stumbled off through the grey to the shelters, coughing all the way.

* * *

"_Fall. In!_"

The bellowed order echoed around the camp, drawing white-armoured men from bunks to the man in the centre, holding a datapad above his head.

"Listen up- _listen up you mother-loving sons of Wooks!_ - we have our orders from the admiral here! We are being billeted here- _knock it off Dav, I will put you on latrine duty!_ - until further notice by the orders of his majesty Emperor Palpatine, to wipe out the last of Rebel infection!"

"But its Life-Day in a few!" one of the troopers moaned.

"Listen you festering piece of Bantha-crap, the war was not created for your convenience! So far you have failed miserably to exterminate those forsaken insurgents, so this is your just reward _yes what is it CK-128?_"

The trooper, more often called Gavin, put down his hand. "Are they sending any more mortars, commander? We ran out ages ago."

The commander shook his helmeted head. "Those cursed Rebels have tied up the troops in the surrounding systems, most likely to prevent them from arriving. Yes Sarkul?"

The resident sniper stepped forward. "We've run out of dets as well, commander. Only blasters and a couple of old rockets left."

"We'll just have to make do. Get back inside; it's really going to piss down in a- _corporal Starky, what the hell is that?_"

The Stormtrooper looked a little embarrassed as he revealed what he was carrying. There were a few muffled sniggers. "He just came running back commander, I was going to-"

"It is a _Squall_, corporal. I've told you enough times to-"

"C'mon commander, he's practically a regiment mascot now," the soldier protested. "Comes in every evening, bright as you please. Reminds me of the Pittin I had as a kid-"

The commander looked at the furry animal cleaning itself in the arms of his corporal. He tried to protest, but only said lamely, "it doesn't look like mascot material to _me_, corporal." The Squall whiffled its nose at him.

"He makes a great pillow, commander. I've called him Ozzel."

The commander choked. "_Ozzel?_"

"He looks like an Ozzel."

The Stormtrooper regarded the pet, and conceded the point. It _did_ look like the admiral in question. "Just make damn sure you don't bring it back with you, alright?"

"Fine, commander. C'mon Ozzel."

Man and Squall made for the mess tent, fur plastered into armour until it was hard to tell who was wearing what.

* * *

Blaster fire screamed over the heads of the troops, vaporising the tops of the barricade and turning the damp to steam. Every morning woke like this; every evening was bidden goodbye under a storm of lasers. Howls of pain as stray bolts and chips of superheated rock grazed un-wrapped flesh and skin, scoring lines and pits. Hake crawled over to medic Reedy, who was patching up a burnt leg on one of the troopers.

"_Two more on the east side_," he yelled over the noise. "_anyone bad_?"

A spatter of popping noises sounded as rockfall was induced on the starport walls. "_Asxk got hit on the side_," Reedy yelled back, Zabrak baritone turned hoarse from stress and dust. "_I sent him back down to rest up_."

There was an ominous silence for a moment, and troopers scrambled off their posts in anticipation. A breathless hush descended.

"Run out?" Reedy murmured. "It doesn't seem possible..."

"It isn't," Hake muttered back. "It'll come any minute n..."

A shriek like a hawk-bat sounded, and an explosion that shook the world. Half the barricade vanished in a vaporised cloud of atoms, white-hot fragments raining down through the mist to slice those below. The screaming took on new levels of agony.

Hake cursed, and yelled, "_Fall back! _Moth, get the gunners up!_ They will come over!_"

He was proved right, as waves of white flowed over the rubble, blasting any that stood in their way. Red lances rushed to meet them, and the wave broke on the rocks, flotsam of limbs and bodies in its wake.

The sergeant ran towards the thick of it, worn DH-17 spitting death at the attackers. The scent of burnt meat filled the air, and men fell around him.

Steadily the Imperials were driven back, the Rebels grimly paying for every step with a blasted leg, a chipped arm, a charred face. Some had lost or out-used their blasters, having to rely on knives and slugthrowers to drive back the Stormtroopers. At last they broke.

"_Don't run after them_," Hake bellowed at the few enthusiasts with strength still to run. "Get more material up here! Moth..."

The corporal staggered over; face a mask of gore from a rock chip. "Sarge?"

"Help Reedy get the wounded back down. Make sure they get food."

"Yes sarge." The man slipped down to the duracrete floor below, a trail of blood trickling from his leg as he went.

It was only then that Hake realised it was dawn of Life-Days' Eve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Restuss, Rori, noon of Life-Day Eve**

"Here Sid! Here, want some food?"

The Squall trotted over from its hiding place, nose whiffling as the smell of the bofa treat wafted over. It snuffled at the hand of the soldier, and made no objection as it was picked up.

Hake snorted as the Twi'lek hugged the animal. "Careful Shiri, your soft side is showing."

The woman made a face at him, green skin wrinkling in the bitter wind. "He's more cuddly than you, sarge."

A few snorts and catcalls sounded around the flickering stoves, which Hake supremely ignored. Gradually they died away to the sounds of frying meat and bubbling soup, making mouths water as they prayed for the meals to hurry.

Garth the newb, stuttered and hacked over his lunch, making those near him edge away from fear of infection. Chest burning, he sidled to the only over woman in the company, a skinny, rag-wrapped human with cropped red curls and brown eyes. Adolescent optimism made him engage her in conversation, to no avail.

Sid wandered over to him, nudging at his leg in hope of more food. Garth sighed and dropped down a piece of flatbread, which was eagerly gobbled by the hungry Squall.

"A-at least _y-you_ manage t-to meet s-some females, S-Sid," he stammered miserably.

* * *

Commander TH-456 of the 775th Stormtrooper Corps watched as his men- most raw recruits and battered veterans- huddled near portable stoves and camp fires, ears turned red from the cold. He sat near the wall, carving away at a piece of wood he'd found somewhere on the outskirts. Years ago he had learned that carving passed the time away, and gave his hands something to do.

A canopy of complaints and mumbled conversation rose to meet him...

"Ok, we've got grey gunk, grey gunk, or grey gunk- you chose."

"Bantha steak would go down well..."

"Hot chocolate... we always had that near Life-Day, with little mallow paste on the top..."

"Tang barks' better... mix it in well with milk..."

"... with some Bothan brandy as well..."

"...chor-cake for afters..."

"...nah, dricklefruit pie..."

"With cream..."

"And sprinkles..."

"Shut up Dav, you're making us hungry..."

"Don't need Dav...I could eat a Ronto."

"So grey gunk then?"

"Makes a nice change I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Mostly it's brown."

TH-345 – also known as Aran- wandered over to the commander. Unlike the others he still had his helmet on, and the lower half of his body was splattered with blood and gritty sand. He slumped down wearily in front of the stove, and pulled off the helmet to reveal a lined brown face and tired black eyes.

"No more dead, commander. We left those at the breach." He extended his hands over the rising heat and sighed. "Any new supplies?"

His fellow clone shook their head. "None. I ordered the rats to be rationed more sparsely, but they won't last long."

"An army marches on its stomach, commander."

"We'll cope." He looked around the camp, at the former farmers from Reuss VIII, the mechanics from Eriadu, the clones from Kamino, young hopefuls from Coruscant, Naboo, Talus...

"We've got a real mix, commander."

He looked at Aran, unsurprised. His brother always knew what he was thinking, and in places like this hellhole, it was a comfort to have a little piece of home-

-but 'home' was Tipoca City, where he had been decanted and taught by ghostlike Kaminoans. A place of fear, where less than 100 efficiency had meant instant termination. A place of anger, when the live-fire exercises had killed off fellow pod-members. A place of cold walls and cold eyes, hard bunks and endless tests. No, it was not 'home', if that could mean the same thing to a clone as it did to normal beings.

He had had another 'home' once. Not all clones married. Most didn't, unable to relate to any being that had not experienced what they had. But he had, and for a little while there had been another who understood him and didn't have his face. Then there had been two others, one with black hair and black eyes, a sweet smile. Her mothers' smile.

But it was in the past, and clones did not dwell on the past. They didn't want to.

He turned and gave Aran a tight smile. "A good mix. Newbs like Faskul-" the blond-capped Stormtrooper in question joked with Dav and gulped rations- "and tired old vets like us."

"Not too tired to wipe those scum off the face of the galaxy."

"No," he said softly, as the wind wailed around them. "Never too tired for that."

* * *

Sunset that day was bright and unusually clear. As the bloody ball of orange and red sank below the black teeth of the city, there was a cry-

"Sid! Come back!"

The Squall kept going, determinedly making for the barricade. It whisked over the top and scrambled down the other side. Shiri cursed.

"Blasted ball of fur!"

Nat, a lean Rodian with rare white pigmentation, wandered over and sniggered. "Scared off another male?"

The look he received was enough to make him back away a little. "Say that again, chalk-face..."

"No need for that." He looked hurt. She turned away in disgust, muttering Ryl swearwords in undertone.

An explosion of harsh coughs broke off her tirade, and she ran over to the person responsible. Garth was on his knees, hacking and retching, while most of the squad looked on in worry. Gasping, he tried to stand, but fell again.

Reedy ran over, medpack at the ready.

"Here lad...drink this..."

Spluttering as the bitter black brew slid down, Garth staggered upright again. The rest dispersed as Reedy shooed them away.

Hake arrived just as the last were leaving.

"Reedy, what...?"

"Garth," the Zabrak said bluntly. "Sergeant, if he stays here in the cold any longer we may be burying another soon. His immune system can't cope..."

Garth shook his head weakly, mumbling, "I'm fine, I'll be alright..."

"It's far too cold and wet here; he needs to be transferred out..."

"It's just flu, I'll be ok."

Reedy turned to him, long fingers snapping in anger. "It _might_ have been flu a few weeks ago, but it's a full-blown infection now! Your lungs are clogged up. Soon you will no longer be able to breath. Even now you wake the camp each morning with your choking!"

"Reedy, we can't send him out, we have no transports left," Hake cut in.

The medic ran his hand over his horns in worry. "Well, fire... we need fire to dry him out... and proper hot food, not dried rations and water."

"Sarge?"

All three turned, to see Nat and Shiri standing behind them. Both looked a little uncomfortable.

Shiri cleared her throat. "Sarge, there's an old furniture factory behind the starport... I could go have a look."

"It's too dangerous," Hake said quickly, "you'll be seen."

"We could use the old tunnels, sarge. No problem."

"I'll go with her," piped up Nat, "She needs a man to look after her..."

Shiri looked supremely unimpressed, and Hake intervened hastily. "If you are both sure... just be careful."

The Rodian made an attempt at a salute, somewhat spoiled by his grin. "Righto sarge."

Both disappeared towards the back, blasters over their shoulders. Hake turned back to his medic.

"Get Garth under a shelter. Tell everyone to gather any wood or anything burnable in the area, sweep out some spaces near the barricade and ring them with stones. Quickly as well. It's getting dark."

Both hurried off into the gloom, as a misty drizzle started to brush the camp.

* * *

There was no attack that night. Neither camp had enough ammunition to attack the other; neither was particularly keen to fight in the middle of a chilly, rain-swept night. Both sat under tarps and make-shift caves in the crumbled walls, waiting impatiently for dawn.

Then someone started humming.

In the Imperial encampment, where the raindrops had coated the broken flagstones with diamonds, someone hummed an old childhood tune over the last sputtering stove. The commander looked up from his carving just as the fuel ran out and plunged the camp into darkness.

"_Stars above, how they burn..."_

It was Dav, a conscript from Reuss VIII. In the silence and the dark, the song seemed almost to fill the city...

"_Wheeling round, see them turn..."_

The man next to him started to pick up the tune, whispering along-

"_Fire at night, glowing bright..."_

TH-456 was sure he heard someone snuffle slightly, but in the gloom he couldn't see who.

"_Wanderin' home, guiding light..."_

The song broke off as Aran lit a glowrod and held it up. Green light revealed hollow eyes and downcast expressions.

Their commander began to harangue them, but the words stuck in his throat halfway. He saw Starky cuddling Ozzel to him, gazing with an expression like a starving child seeing food.

Eventually he sat back down, silent. A lookout called-

"Commander...look..."

He edged up over their wall of rubble and planks, breath collecting in front of him in a glittering span of pearl. He looked.

A fire had been lit in the Rebel encampment, and there was a sound of singing.Not soft, sad singing like Davs' but loud and raucous soldier songs. The lookout turned a blank mask to him.

"I've got the drop on them sir- shall I shoot?"

One shot at that fire with a rocket would kill at least half the camp. It might even wipe out the scum altogether.

He watched a little longer, and slid back down.

"Get back in your tents," he said quietly. "Starky, stop hugging that bloody thing and get some rest. No attacks tonight."

If they were surprised they didn't show it, but crawled to their sleep mats and blankets. He went back to the lookout.

"Go back in and sleep. I'll take this watch."

The man saluted and went back down. He leaned his elbows on the wall, and listened to the singing.

Above the stars glowed in splendour, decorations enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Rori, Restuss, dawn of Life-Day**

Jas Omino, a Reussi with dyed-blue hair and half and ear missing, had the misfortune to be on lookout first thing on Life-Days' dawn. Yawning and shivering in the biting wind, he sat on a handy rock and waited out the sun.

Maybe he fell asleep; maybe he simply wasn't paying attention to the enemy camp enough. Whatever the reason, when he saw what was happening over the pockmarked strip of land littered with bodies between them, he shouted loud enough to wake the whole camp.

"_Sarge!_"

Hale scrambled upright in seconds, looking over to the franticly gesturing trooper. He followed the hand signals up and over the barricade.

"Crisping Nerfs!

Jas fought down an insane urge to laugh as his sergeant, beard aquiver, peered over the stones to the camp, where glowrods had been stuck along the walls. The overall effect was quite pretty, from a distance.

And there were voices...

"_There'll be singing over the golden grains, just you wait and see..."_

Hake heard humming, and turned to Jas. The Reussi was crying.

"I know this one sarge...it sounds like home..."

To the Rebels utter amazement, he took out a wooden flute from his pocket and started to whistle out the tune. Hake gaped.

"Jas, what the _hell_."

He ignored Hake, but carried on piping out the tune that was half-mournful, half-joyful. On the barricade over the craters, the singing had faltered. Jas continued his playing, and it started up again...

"_There'll be love and light and mothers cooking, just you wait and see..."_

The song wove among the cracked stones and quieted the howling wind, as Rebel and Imperial alike stopped to listen at the plaintive tune...

"_And my sweetheart'll be there at the door, just you wait and see..._"

It wound itself into a knot of music, at the soft conclusion-

"_There'll be singing over the golden grains, when I return... just you wait and see._"

Jas stood. He was no longer afraid of what would happen, because in that camp somewhere was someone who knew the same songs that he had had sung to him as a child, and who could shoot him and know those songs? He stood in full view, and waved his pipe like a baton.

"Nicely sung!"

A white head popped over the stones. If a helmet could look surprised, this one did.

"_Er...you too, Rebel._"

Hake was choking on his beard, trying to pull Jas down. "You moron! Any minute now someone will shoo..."

Jas pulled free and slid down the barricade- on the wrong side. Settling in a crater, he carried on waving his pipe.

"Who knows 'All the winds came marching in'?"

"Jas, you _idiot_..." Hake scrambled up the top and slid down beside his trooper. There was the sound of murmured voices from the Imperials. "Get back up there now!"

Movement from the enemy stopped him. One of the Stormtroopers was climbing over, hands held up in a gesture of surrender. He hurried over and put down his hands, keeping them carefully away from the blaster slung on his belt.

Hake tried to collect himself. It would be too embarrassing to admit to an _Imp_ that one of _his_ men had gone insane.

The Stormtrooper stopped a metre away, and looked carefully at them both. "Where is your commander?"

Hake pulled himself up, beard bristling. "Somewhere out there-"he gestured at the body-strewn battlefield. "I am the highest ranking NCO left."

The Stormtrooper looked disconcerted, but shrugged. "Our commander wants to know if this is an attempt at surrender. If so, he says you can put down your blasters and come into our camp for assimilation..."

"It is not surrender, we were...err..." Hake thought quickly, aware that he had a dozen snipers trained on him. "We...er...we wanted to call a truce. To bury the dead."

"Bury the dead?" The other was surprised. "I'll take back the message..."

He turned and ran back to his camp. Hake stood, feeling slightly foolish, as a heated debate was carried out just within earshot of them. He stamped his feet and tucked rag-wrapped hands into his armpits for warmth.

Another Stormtrooper, wearing a commanders rank insignia, climbed over the enemy barricade and walked over. He stopped and saluted.

Confused, Hake saluted back.

"We agree to a truce for today to bury the dead, on the condition that both party's leave their weapons in their camps. It will cease at the agreement of the highest ranking officers in either camp, ah...?"

"Sergeant," Hake supplied. "Sergeant Crishnin Hake. And I _am_ the highest ranking officer, commander. The rest are lying in craters somewhere in this Force-forsaken city."

"Very well, sergeant. Send yours over when they feel like it."

The man stalked away, and Hake ran back up the barricade to a breathless audience.

"Sarge, _sarge_! What did he say?"

"Are they surrendering sarge?"

"Are _we_ surrendering sarge?"

Hake looked around, dazed. "Truce, lads. Leave the weapons in here, we're all on burying detail today..."

"The Imps'll fry us!"

"We have to show that _we_ are trustworthy!" he barked, pulling himself together. "I _mean _it! All weapons are to be left here, and if I catch _anyone_ trying to sneak any in-" he looked around sternly, "I will _personally_ turn them over!"

A fair amount of grumbling ensued, which he ignored. As he left to dump his blaster, he heard the wind rise up again.

It sounded almost like a pipe being played.

* * *

They came over in an endless wave, ragged, tired-eyed, sore, shivering. Most had wrapped greasy rags around their heads and hands; many had boots that were starting to rot from constant immersion in slimy rainwater. Gunman's dusters and oversized jackets vied with baggy pants tied at the knee, smeared with mud and camo paint. A few limped; some held injured arms and hands in slings. The hoard stopped at the exact centre of the battlefield, watching.

Another wave came over. More uniform than the first, with white armour and white utility belt, clattering and clanking against the slippery stones. Most were charred from blaster fire, gritty with dust, tarnished with blood and gore. Some had makeshift bandages tied around their legs or arms, a few were helmetless, with cracked armour or lost pieces. They halted in front of the hoard, wary.

Their commander stepped out. A sergeant from the others went to meet him.

They spoke, and shook hands.

Each dispersed to find the dead.

* * *

"Excuse me..."

Aran looked up from the body he had been searching. Food and supplies were too short to be wasted on the dead, and there was a pile next to him of rat packs, comlink and glowrods. Standing next to the pile with a nervous looking Zabrak with blue and green facial tattoos. Frost had formed on the tips of his horns, glistening like gems in the weak sun.

"What?" His tone was a scrape short of open hostility.

"Um..."the other gathered his courage together. "I wondered if you had a heater...perhaps... it's Warrner you see..."

Aran followed the pointing finger to a shape on the ground, shrouded in frozen robes and a broken helmet.

"It's this frost...he's frozen in." The Rebel looked miserable. "None of us have anything to heat him with, so we wondered if you..."

The clone stood, towering over Reedy like an oak over a beech sapling. He kept his voice level with difficulty.

"You expect me, _me_, to help you bury some piece of scum that most likely killed some of the men I have been treating ever since we landed on the forsaken lump of swampwater? You _dare_ to ask? You _dare_?"

Reedy locked eyes with the Stormtrooper. "He was sixteen. He did not kill anyone. He just got in the way of a blaster..."

"If I could put every one of you on the end of mine, I would, and I would make sure I shot where you would die slowly." It was spat out. "Let the basterd rot where he is. When I was his age, I had already seen my squad wiped out, killed more than I could count or remember. Age is nothing in war."

He clenched his fists in memory. "You, _you_ and people like you, you are the reason he is dead. _You _persuade them to fight, you send them to die. _We _just try to keep the peace."

The Zabrak swallowed hard. Aran stopped as he saw the other was fighting back tears. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have asked. Please accept my apologises."

He bowed stiffly and went back to the corpse. Aran turned back to his, but curiosity made him glance at the Rebels.

Reedys' shoulders were shaking, and he was carefully keeping his face turned away from the others gathering bodies from the flagstones. As Aran watched he tugged at the corpse, only to be pulled back down from the stiff weight and frozen cloth.

The clone looked away quickly. Pity had no place in war.

He started to loot his own again, trying to ignore the faint sobbing sound from eight feet away. A fit of coughing made him look up sharply.

The Zabrak had apparently been joined by a skinny adolescent, probably little older than the frozen body on the ground. Both were trying to pull it upright, but the younger had doubled over with a retching sound, unable to breath. Aran sighed and stood, walking over.

The look the Rebels gave him was that of Nerfs seeing a loose Rancor approaching. He tried to look non-threatening, and failed miserably.

"You're the one with the cough?"

The boy nodded, hair flopping over his face in puzzlement. Aran handed him a vacuum pack of black liquid.

"Drink this with water each night... it should help. You keep waking us up each morning."

Embarrassment vied with fear and amazement on the young Rebels face. Aran almost smiled.

Reedy spoke up. "It isn't lack of medicine- it's the cold. No-one could recover in this weather..."

"Don't you have blankets? Fires?"

The other shrugged. "Fires are too dangerous. And we lost the last of our blankets ages ago, in a skirmish. We do our best, but-"

"Surely your command has sent you more!"

"There's an Imp...Imperial, sorry... blockade around the nearest base. It would take too much time and money to send supplies from elsewhere," Reedy explained.

Aran shook his head. And they claimed to be humanitarian?

"Well, you could always surrender. We'd give you blankets!" It was almost a joke, and was met with almost laughter.

"Yes and a nice warm cell. Thanks but no thanks."

They all smiled slightly. Only slightly, but enough.

As Garth was sent away to fetch a shroud, he happened to look back. Aran was helping Reedy melt away the frost.

* * *

A problem arose as soon as the burial detail came back. They reported the ground too frozen to dig in, providing the two officers with a problem. They solved it by declaring pyres to be built instead, but another setback arose...

"There isn't enough wood, sarge," Nat reported. "All the stuff we found would only make one bonfire."

Hake immediately saw the answer, but he choked on the notion of saying it aloud. From the set of his counterparts' shoulders, the commander was having the same thought.

It was up to Garth to put the idea forward. "We could use one pyre for all the b-bodies."

Both camps shouted objections, and were shouted down by their officers. Hake put forward the view of both in a few succinct sentences. "Throw our_ own_ in with the people that killed them? You're out of your mind boy!"

Garth shrugged, surprisingly showing no particular upset. The hour spent without the constant irritation in his throat had given him something of a new perceptive on Imperials, and even now Reedy and Aran were swapping medicinal information on the edge of the crowd. He glanced at them for support, and saw a thumbs-up from the Zabrak.

He squared his shoulders. "They won't mind sarge. _We're_ the only ones that will, and w-when you think about it that's pretty selfish, isn't it? Stopping them from being taken care of properly just 'cos we don't like each other."

There was a fair amount of muttering at his words, and a few embarrassed murmurs. Hake and TH-456 looked at each other with unease.

Garth warmed up to his subject. "W-we just called this truce to deal with our dead, sarge. We didn't call it t-to argue about how we do it, or who t-they get burned with. I think...I think we should call a truce for them as well. J-just for today. I don't think they will object. Sarge?"

Hake coughed. "Well, that's fair enough lad, but..."

"There aren't any 'buts' sarge!" Garth was amazed at his own daring, but the thought of Aran and his medicine buoyed him on. "We heard the singing last night, we whistled along today, we called truce! We left 'buts' behind when you talked to that Imp instead of shooting him! This won't affect the war, burning the dead together. It won't affect this battle. It's just...something that has to happen. Arguing about it is pretty st-stupid isn't it?"

At this both Imperial and Rebel looked at each other in an awkward fashion, and there was a fair amount of murmuring along the 'he's got a point' variety. Commander TH-456, feeling he should uphold his army's intelligence, cleared his throat.

"Ok lads... gather up all the bodies, _all_ of them, and dump them near the fire. I want two of you to get it going, another two to deposit the corpses in the pyre-"

"Hang on, Imp, there're ours out there as well!" Hake pointed out.

"Fine, fine... any of you Rebel sc... Rebels who want to help, go organise yourselves and assist in throwing on the bodies. No fighting, no arguing. I_ mean_ it, lads. We can't look like a bunch of d'kuts I front of this unorganised rabble, can we?"

Hake cut off any Rebel anger with his bellowed orders. "_Right_! You heard him! First to fight an Imp gets put on latrine duty for a month! We'll show_ them_ what a rabble can do, won't we?"

The resounding _"Yes!"_ from the crowd shook what walls remained n the city.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Rori, Restuss, Afternoon of Life-Day**

"Sid!"

The Squall whiffled its nose ecstatically, leaping into Shiris' arms. She hugged him and cooed.

"Clever Sid, I bet all those nasty Imps scared you, didn't they?"

"Hey, that's Ozzel! Put him down!"

An angry Stormtrooper clattered over, waving his arms.

"He isn't some blasted Jax to put in the stewpot! Drop him or I'll... urgle..."

Shiri had turned around, giving him the full force of her green-faced scowl. For some reason it had unmanned the Imp completely. "_What_ did you say?"

Corporal Starky tried to repeat his sentence, but somehow the words degenerated into a "Gnh!" in the face of a pair of the most amazing green-flecked blue eyes he had ever seen...

"Spit it _out_, Imp!"

"Gnh... I mean... he's called Ozzel ma'am," Starky said weakly. "He's, er, kinda a mascot for the regiment..."

"Don't be ridiculous, his name's Sid and he's _our _mascot!"

"Your...? Ok, ok. Must have the wrong Squall," he said hurriedly. "Um...Sid?"

"Sid the Squall," she said in a voice loaded with scorn. "Even someone as illiterate and brain-dead as _you_ must have figured that out, Imp!"

"Right...right. Suits him. Um." The Squall wrinkled his whiskers at Starky in a manner that could only be called smug. "Um."

What should he say? What was there _to_ say? Why, oh _why_ didn't they explain this in to teaching pods? How do you engage an amazingly attractive, intelligent, compassionate woman in conversation?

"What's your name?" he blurted out.

The Twi'leks eyes narrowed almost to slits, something that did nothing for Starkys' already hormone-swamped brain. He tried to concentrate in staying upright as she whispered ominously, "_What_?"

"Er... I...you...er..." He gulped. "You're..."

"If the next two words are 'Rebel scum', there will be trouble," she warned.

"Scum? I mean no! Not at all...er... I just...do you know you have really pretty eyes?" he said desperately.

That threw her. She blinked at him in astonishment. "Er...no. Not in everyday conversation. Usually not from Imps either, if you see my point."

He felt as if he had been clubbed over the head. Damn, he _was_ an Imp...Imperial! Shit! How did you go about attracting a woman of the opposite faction to you?

"I've got eyes...like you...that is... does it matter?" he asked wistfully.

"_I _think so. Especially since you've been shooting at me for the past three months!"

"Oh blast, I'd forgotten..." He saw the look on her face and added hastily, "Not that it's something I should forget! Um look... do you have to...I mean can't you..."

"No."

"Ah, really? Oh well... I just need to find out when I've got some leave up I guess..."

"Are you _serious_?"

"Well yes, but I don't get paid much, so we can't go to any fancy restaurants or anything..."

"Are you _insane_?"

"Possibly, I never found out what my IQ test was... how about the new diner on Galactic Alley? We could get burgers..."

"You _are_ insane! Me and you? When we haven't even _met_ properly? When there's just the smallest little issue of _me_ being and _outlaw_ that _you_ are supposed to shoot on _sight_?"

"Um... they don't have to be _big_ burgers..."

"What's up girl? This buckethead giving you a hard time?"

She turned and groaned. "Not _now_, Nat!"

The Rodian waved her off. "Nothing too good for a lady- I'll just break a few of his limbs and stop him bothering you, ok? Sarge's setting up some cook fires, and yours truly found some old barrels of stuff in one of the cellars..."

"Hey snout-mouth, didn't you hear her? She said _not now_!"

There was a deadly silence. Shiri spoke very quickly. "Nat, he didn't mean that, Imp...whatever your name is, stop fighting my friends..."

Nat balled his sucker-cupped hands into fists. "You gonna repeat that, Imp?"

"This isn't a holodrama, Nat! Imp, don't you _dare_..."

He brushed her off gently. "I'll just beat him up and come back, alright? It won't take long."

"You believe that, Imp? Come and try it!"

"Imp if you do I... I wont go out with you!"

The crackle of the pyre was painfully loud. Shiri closed her eyes as Hake walked over slowly.

"Trooper...?"

"It's...it's nothing sarge. Honest."

"You said you were going to go out with him!"

"No I said I_ wasn't_ going out with him!"

"Unless he stopped fighting. And he's stopped fighting!"

"Does that mean I can go out with you?" The Stormtrooper sounded hopeful.

"Yes! I mean no!"

"But you _said_..."

"Nothing wrong with him," a nearby Stormtrooper piped up indignantly. "What have you got against clones anyway?"

"He's a _clone_?"

"Hey, don't say it like that!"

"Say it like _what_? What did I say it like?"

"It doesn't make a difference!"

"But clones can't fall in love!"

The other Stormtrooper added his own opinion again. "I doubt its love, sweet thing. Hur hur hur..."

"_Right_ you little piece of piss! I'll give you sweet thing!"

"There's a _truce_, trooper!" Hake said hurriedly, grabbing her. Nat followed suit. "You can't just haul off and smack him in the gob!"

"I'm not aiming for his gob!"

"What the hell is going on?" TH-456 came over. "Rebel, you vouched for your men!"

Nat piped up. "She isn't a man, that's kinda the problem...ouch!"

"It isn't a problem to _me_."

"Shut_ up_, Imp!"

"Starky."

"What?"

"I'm called Starky. It's my name."

"Oh, right. Er... nice name."

"Welcome."

"Do clones_ have_ names then?"

"Shut _up_, Nat!"

The Rodian looked wounded. "Just asking."

TH-456 tried to insert some sanity back into the picture. "Would someone mind explaining what's happening?"

"She won't go out with him 'cos he's clone!"

"No, it's because he's an Imp..."

"What's the problem with that?" asked Imperial clone TH-456.

"She's a Rebel!"

"You've noticed, Nat."

"Shut up the pair of you!" Hake kept a firm grip on his trooper as he replied, "Your soldier was bothering her..."

"No I wasn't!"

"No he wasn't!"

Hake quelled them both with a glare. "Nat tried to make him go away..."

"He said he was going to beat him up!"

"And then _that _one started to pour oil on the whole situation..."

"She doesn't like clones! Anyway, he only wanted a one-night stand with her..."

"I do not!"

"I do not!"

"_Shut up_! It's all a misunderstanding..."

"No it isn't!"

"No it..." Starky stopped, confused. "I mean yes it is! I was just asking her if she wanted to meet me when I was on leave!"

TH-456 went very still. "What?"

"I was...she was... I just asked...then he started..." Starky stumbled into silence under his officers' glower. A small crowd had started to form.

"You asked out a _Rebel_?"

"I kinda forgot, commander..."

"_Forgot_? You _forgot_ she was the enemy?"

"That isn't really fair, Imp," Nat pointed out. "She isn't Mothma, or Ackbar, or Dodonna, or Princess Leia..."

"Shut_ up _Nat!"

Starky was looking at his feet, his face turned red. He mumbled, "I just thought...it doesn't matter. Sorry commander."

"It _does_ matter! I _will_ go out with you!"

"You will?"

"You will?"

"You _won't_," TH-456 barked. "You are not having an affair with one of my troopers, scum!"

A chorus of boos and hisses, not all of them from Rebels, filled the area. One yelled out, "Killjoy!"

"_I know that was you Dav, you will be put on a charg_e-Starky, get back to camp! That's an order!"

"You can't boss him about!"

"Listen Rebel, we Imperials have a little thing called 'discipline' you might have heard of, and it means he will be going_ straight_ back to camp, _right now_! Starky?"

The clone didn't budge. "Commander."

"Get back._ Now_."

"Commander." He still didn't move.

Shiri tried to head off a charge of insubordination. "Commander... look, haven't you ever fallen for someone? He's just...he just needs a bit of time. He'll probably forget when he gets off this dump..."

"I wo..." Starky broke off as he felt her step on his foot.

"... it's probably just better for him to get it out of his system now, right? So he doesn't brood?"

"Fraternise with the enemy?" Quinn's' expression was unreadable.

"Not fraternise, just... mix with. Neither of us knows anything earth-shaking, so it won't do any harm, will it?"

The commander considered this. The crowd urged him on-

"C'mon commander, you can't stand in the way of young love..."

"_Love in the moonlight, the sweet, sweet moonlight..._"

"_Dav, So help me..._do you object to this, sergeant Hake?"

The Rebel started, obviously surprised at being asked. "Err... as long as she doesn't give away anything important while you're here..."

"They won't be discussing politics tonight, sarge!" There were a few wolf whistles.

"No-one asked you, Flinty! As long as she doesn't, I can't see any reason-or any way- to stop them."

Starky and Shiri sighed in relief as the Stormtrooper nodded curtly. "Fine...you lot, disperse! We still have two dozen bodies to burn!"

A chorus of grumbles rose from those present, followed by haranguing from Hake and TH-456. "Shift yourselves, you bloodless womprats! _Hup hup hup..._"

They scattered, leaving the two red-faced soldiers behind. The Twi'lek could have sworn Hake winked at her as he ran after his troopers. She turned to Starky.

"Oh, by the way...my name's Shiri."

* * *

It grew chillier that night, with frost starting to creep over the puddles and cluttered dewdrops, driving the troopers of both sides close to their fires. Food was broken out; some casks of brandy- appropriated by Nat from an old cellar- were shared. It did a lot towards the general feelings of goodwill as the sun set.

"You the Imp that knows Reussi songs?"

"Only if you're the Reb that whistled along on that pipe this morning."

"Yup. Name's Jas Omino."

"Dav Irk. Hey, have you ever been to the Broken Tusk?"

"The one run by those two piggys?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Beers crap, but the sabaacs good."

"You play?"

"Sure. Want a game?"

"Why not?"

The officers couldn't halt it, the NCOs wouldn't try. Some started to break into song- soldiers songs, songs learned in the crib, in mothers' arms, in front of home fires. Friendship is easy when you have things in common...

"I never asked you what you were called, Rebel."

"Reedy. Guess why."

"Ah. I was assigned CT-7609/1066, now TH-345. But I took the name Aran."

"Designated medic?"

"We were designated every job needed. I suspect _you_ chose..."

"I didn't want to fight. Never. But I couldn't sit by when people were dieing, and then fighting just seemed another way of keeping them alive..."

"It always is, Rebel. For us as well."

It helped that it got darker, rain clouds gathering overhead in an ominous blanket of grey and black. In the firelight, it was easy to ignore armour or dusters, overlook the insignias on people's shoulders.

"Here, have some. Thanks for helping me move Zig. I couldn't shift him by myself."

"Our mam taught us to be polite to women. I guess it hasn't worn off."

"Whatever, you look knackered."

"Hey, this is chocolate! Guys, she's got _chocolate_!"

"Hang on, hang on, don't all crowd round..."

"Miss, do you want us to worship you? Kiss the ground under your feet?"

"Few extra blankets wouldn't go amiss, really. We freeze each night."

"You got it!"

It's easy to be kind to a face you cannot see.

* * *

Hake was warming himself over a fire with two Stormtroopers and one of his men when he saw the commander get up and walk away out of the circle of firelight. Curious, he started to follow.

"Sarge, Hion here still has some brandy, do you want...?"

"No, trooper, you have it. I need to do something."

"Yes sarge."

A faint puff of smoke and light lit his way to the shadows on the edges. It glittered on the eyes of the Imperial, outlined against the weak moonlight. He was gazing at the shape of Naboo, sapphire and emerald in the now cloudless sky.

"It's a good night to celebrate."

Hake looked over at the Imperial, and lit up himself. Grey smoke hung in the air. "Good enough, Imp."

"You're confused."

He blew out. "Just a little. I've been around long enough to know an old-template clone when I see one."

"Not that old."

"Aye, I know about the growth acceleration. But old enough."

"Old enough to be bitter."

"I expect so."

"We are. Aran was right when he was shouting at your medic. We fought for peace, and you took that away..."

"You weren't fighting in the Clone Wars."

"They were my brothers. Aran and Starkys' brothers as well. What one does, we all do."

"And you're angry with us."

"A little. But that is not why we are talking."

"No."

They puffed a little longer, before Hake said, "Why?" TH-456 didn't need to ask what he meant.

"That lanky kid said it. This war won't be won here."

"From what I've heard, it shouldn't matter to a clone."

"We have brains, sergeant. We know when we should and should not fight."

"Maybe. Starky certainly figured that out."

"Will your trooper give him trouble?"

"No. She's a good girl. Too soft-hearted to use him or hurt him."

"Good." Silence fell for another few minutes. Hake found himself loathing the approach of dawn, and all its impendent problems.

"It's past midnight."

That startled him. The truce only lasted until Life-Day was over... "Do they know?"

"Some will have chronos. They will know."

They both listened to the voices, the jokes, but it showed no signs of stopping. A sudden bang made them both jump, but Hake looked up...

"Look..."

One of the Stormtroopers had evidently found the last of the rockets and fired them- straight up. The coloured lights and noise lit the celebration below with green and gold, painting faces like stained glass. Hake let out an explosive breath.

"Looks like they don't care."

"Suits me."

"And I."

"Never though I'd agree with an Imp on anything."

"Supporting the Empire doesn't just happen among the stupid, sergeant."

"Looks like."

Naboo gazed down at them, bright and lonely. Hake suddenly wished that the war could be won here and now, between these two camps of men and women. He was sure it could end tonight without bloodshed. If it could only end...

"Sergeant, I would like you to do something for me."

He looked at the commander in surprise, and a little suspicion. "Depends what I have to do, Imp."

"Nothing strenuous. I would just like you to pass this on to someone."

He held out his hand, showing something nestled in his palm. Hake took it, feeling wood under his skin. He held it up to the planet-light.

A small, perfect flower had been carved from ordinary brown wood, and polished to a high gleam. Hake was baffled at the sight of it, but had enough sense not to ask questions.

"Very well. Who to?"

The commanders' face was shadowed as he replied. "A lieutenant Hanna D'katar. I believe you will find her at your base...or one of your bases. Say it is from her father."

"Her father?"

"He would want her to have it. I said I would pass it to her."

"If you promised..."

"I did. I doubt she will receive anything else from him."

"Ah. _That_ sort of story?"

"They...did not agree on many things. But he is older now, he will probably not see her again. It would be fitting she received something of him before he gets himself killed."

There was nothing more that needed to be said. Hake pocketed the flower, making sure he wrapped it well. The commander stubbed out the cigarette and made his way back to his men. The sergeant did the same.

With much yawning, much grumbling, the two split and went to their separate camps. Shiri and Starky made faintly embarrassed goodbyes, Aran and Reedy swapped the last of their tales and bade each other good night and good luck. Rebel and Imperial alike murmured thanks and slipped through the dark into their blankets and sleep mats.

Naboo shone down through the night, guarding their sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Rori, Restuss, dawn of the New Year**

Commander TH-456 got up early that day. None of the clones were Force-sensitive, but he had lived long enough to know his guts could sometimes hold true in certain events. A glimpse through the mist of dawn proved him correct.

Corporal Starky, almost unrecognisable in plain jumpsuit with a pair of soft civilian shoes, was creeping along the edges of the camp with his rolled-up sleep mat under his arm. The commander walked silently behind him.

"Going somewhere, corporal?"

Starky jumped a mile, spinning round. "Commander, I was...uh..."

"I know, corporal."

He looked faintly sick. "You do?"

"I do."

"Oh...oh _Force_." He slumped down. "Commander, I'm...I'm sorry. It's just..."

"I understand."

"I can't... I just can't do it commander. I can't fire blasters at her! Not after last night..." He gulped down tears and tried to look brave. "I'm sorry my execution will stain the regiments' records, commander. If you kill me now, you could pretend it was Rebels..."

"I won't."

"Commander?" He looked up, confused.

TH-456 pulled him to his feet, shoving the mat into his arms. "Are you turning Rebel?"

"_No_, commander! Conditioning hasn't gone _that_ bad..." he clenched his fists shakily. "I just...just need some time alone. With her. We need to sort things out..."

"Is she leaving?"

"She said...she said she might. She still wants to fight things...like the slavers on Ryloth... but she said she didn't have to be a Rebel to do that..."

"Is she waiting?"

"She said she would. She said her sergeant would understand."

TH-456 closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them- "I expect he will. You'll have to run."

"Commander..."

"That's an _order_, corporal!"

"_Sir!_"

Starky scrambled up the barricade and over, running through the craters to the burned and battered starport. TH-456 watched hi go, as he ran up the sides of the crumbling, heaped rocks and saw as hands pulled him over- one set the lightest shade of green in the morning light.

"That was a good thing you did, commander."

He turned to see Aran watching him carefully. Making no reply, he just nodded.

Aran looked at the sky in contemplation, and stiffened. "Commander..."

TH-456 looked as well, and sucked in a breath. A shuttle showed in the sky.

He faced Aran, heart pounding. "Rouse the camp!"

* * *

"Sarge, wake up!"

Hake woke instantly. Moth was shaking him hard his teeth were knocking together. Around him, most of the Rebels were looking on, pale-faced and worried.

The sergeant scrambled to his feet. "What's happening?"

"Imps've got a visitor sarge!"

_That_ woke him up fully, icy fear tracing down his spine. "Who?"

"Some bigwig by the looks of it sarge, with reinforcements. Sarge..." Hake started as he realised Moth was trembling in fear. "Sarge, what do we _do_?"

He looked around, saw Shiri- looking tearful- hugging Starky- now in a mucky old duster and looking uncomfortable- near Garth- whose cough had almost disappeared overnight. A few of the others clutched old mugs smelling of brandy, most looked the worse for wear for drink. None were adequately armed, and Hake knew the reason. Who could fire a shot at someone you'd shared a drink with? And chocolate, and blankets?

Hake hand been sure the Imps had felt the same way, but the new ones... they wouldn't understand. The Rebels had no backup, no extra firepower. If they were attacked with full capacity...

"Sarge?"

He looked around. "Reedy... gather up the wounded! Garth, get the supplies! The rest of you, clear the tunnels! Double quick! We're getting out of here!"

"All the tunnels..." Nat looked as though his chest hurt. "They're all blocked, sarge. Those rockets caused falls in the back..."

"Well, we need to take shelter anyway. Get clearing it away! Gather your weapons!"

The troopers scattered, every one as tense as a wire and pale as chalk. Hands stumbled on tasks, feet stumbled over rocks, tongues stumbled over words. The shallow tunnels were opened, grinning mouths leading to dead-end grave.

Hake waited outside for the last to go in, before following. The gloom was smothering and oppressive down below, like a cave in the underworld. He heard people praying, crying...

"Sarge, we're all here."

With a start he realised he hadn't closed the entrance. He reached up a hand, pulled down the splintered plank. Dark fell like a knife.

"Hope they don't decide on a bombardment, sarge."

He hoped so too. These tunnels would hold out against blasters and rockets, but a full-scale bombardment...there might not even be bodies left.

Soon there was no sound but that of hearts and breathing.

* * *

"Commander TH-456!"

The man called it out, voice as plump and fakely jovial as he. His boots were polished, his grey uniform impeccably ironed, his rank insignia of a Vice-Admiral perfectly placed. Around him were a guard of six Stormtroopers, giving an air of menace to the unassuming figure. The commander saluted.

"Sir!"

"Keeping those scum pinned down, are we?" The portly man looked around with an air of assumed interest. TH-456 noticed his hair had been greased and combed back, like dirty black fur plastered on an animals' back. For a moment he almost wished it would start to rain on this pompous, petty pen-pusher.

"Yes sir."

The other glanced over the men, and sniffed. "Well, that is your job after all. How many casualties?"

"Close to half our numbers sir." He was shaking. Why was he shaking? Precognition? Fear? Anger?

Hatred?

"That many? Perhaps you should have trained them better." He sniffed again. "You will receive plenty of time for that when you leave here."

"When will that be... sir?" He remembered the title just in time. Those sloppy Rebels' indiscipline was catching.

"Why now commander! Why do you think we are here?" The mans fat face was condescending. "Yes, command saw fit to use a Star Destroyer in this sector, and since it was nearby we felt you could use some relief. I _personally_ saw to it that enough supplies were packed for you to eradicate that infection."

A flash of hope lit inside him. There was a way... "You'll be leaving then, sir? While we receive the supplies?"

"What on earth gave you that idea?" He looked amused.

The hope flickered and died. "Sir?"

"I want to see this _end_, commander! The Empire has spent too long on this backwater. A few rounds should do it."

"I..." he saw the weapons being unloaded, and shut his mouth. Ten plasma mortars, upgraded and loaded for firing. Ten of them. Ten would wipe out half the city, let alone a half-ruined starport less than sixty feet away...

"Well, what are you _waiting_ for, commander?"

"Sir?" He realised he had been staring into the distance in a daze. "Sir."

"Well hand them out, man! I haven't got all day."

There was the briefest of moments, when his legs felt soft as jelly and time slowed, when he though about what he was doing. He could shoot the pompous idiot. He had a blaster. He had a squad. They would take care of the guards, and then they would be free, guiltless...

Almost without knowing, he felt his hand move towards his E-11. The squad started to move as well, trained to his every movements, probably thinking exactly the same thing...

"Commander?"

His hand stopped. No matter how much he struggled, it wouldn't budge. Cursing, he tried his other hand, which wouldn't even move an inch. He tried harder, and his mind froze.

Through numb lips he heard himself say, "Arm up. Two to a mortar."

"Commander, we could do it." He recognised the voice of Dav on a private channel. He knew the rest of the squad could hear. "Just say the word."

He tried, he really did. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to kill the men and women he had talked to last night, the fellow clone who had had the courage to admit he loved someone. But the cloners of Kamino had done their work well, and the only words that came out were, "Arm them!"

He watched as they did so, sullen and slow. He watched as they loaded the mortars, started to aim. He watched as they turned helmets towards him, each faceplate a question.

_Are we really doing this, sir? Are we really going to kill them?_

_Are we really the Bad Guys, like they said? _

_Sir?_

"You're not," he whispered, not caring if the Vice-Admiral heard. "I know you're not, lads. It's me that has to be. They'll know, I swear."

"Get _on_ with it, commander!"

Every one was looking at him. His big moment.

He licked dry lips. "Take aim. Sector 289, 54-b to 56."

He felt their surprise. He felt his own. He never thought it would come to this, that this would happen...

The air grew very still. He heard a squeak and a bang, saw Ozzel...Sid?... lying charred on the ground. The little animal must have come out of Starkys' old tent, ready to run over to the Rebels. The Vice-Admiral held a smoking blaster.

He laughed, not noticing the shock in the silence. "Target practice, commander. Speaking of which..."

Speaking. Orders. Always orders. He had orders. He was bred for obedience, wasn't he? Wasn't that what he was made for?

"Commander, if you do not give the order I will have you tried and executed for insubordination!" The squealing voice jolted him out of the haze. "Destroy them!"

"Sir..." he hesitated, but who could fight their own genes? "Sir! Company, aim!"

They took aim. In the privacy of his helmet he heard someone weeping, another whispering for forgiveness.

"Company... Fire!"

He forced himself to look on as the explosion shook the starport, crashing what remained of the walls to the ground, a heap of rubble. He shouted again.

"Same coordinates! _Fire_!"

When he looked back again, there was nothing left but a mound of rocks. The Vice-Admiral sniffed.

"_Finally_... a shuttle will be down soon to pick up your squad. Your behaviour will go on record, commander, rest assured of that!"

He marched off, seething, to the comfortable Lamba. TH-456 felt a hand on his shoulder, and recognised the voice of Aran.

"You did the right thing, commander."

He wished he could believe that.

* * *

_Seven days later, Tatooine..._

There were no charges. He had pretended illness on that day, the rest had backed him up, and the Admiral had had to concede. He had gotten off with a trip to sickbay and a new assignment on some Outer Rim backwater. A dead-end assignment. He didn't particularly care.

When they landed, he dispersed his men through the barracks, dumping his bags in the grey, cold little room that would be 'home' for the next few years. He sat down on the hard bunk.

Dav had deserted. He had been reported missing the day after the bombardment, and no-one had looked for him. Most had silently wished him luck on what he was doing, some had perhaps wished they had gone with him.

Aran was ill. It looked like he had picked up the infection of that Rebel lad... what was his name? Garth? The irony was lost on none, least of all the old clone. He would probably recover, but for now he coughed and shivered in the Star Destroyer sickbay. TH-456 suspected he would be pensioned off as soon as he recovered.

Starky... no-one mentioned Starky anymore. He had said nothing about what had happened that morning in Restuss, and he suspected they had already guessed. Each had said goodbye in his own way, by himself.

Alone now, always. There would be no more truces. No more heartache. He swore this to himself. Life-Day had taken on new meaning now, but it was the meaning of remembrance, not the present. He would always remember that day, when he had taken off the helmet of a Stormtrooper and become just a man. For one day.

It wouldn't be repeated. And he knew it should be.

Commander D'katar of the 775th Stormtrooper Corps held his head in his hands and wept for the last time.

_At that moment on Rori, Restuss..._

"Sir! We found something!"

Lieutenant Steele of the spec-ops special forces hurried over. HQ had sent them- as soon as was possible- to retrieve bodies from the Imperial attack on the camp there. Supply shuttles had made it through too late, bringing food only to the wild Borgle Bats and swampcrawlers. He skidded to a halt next to a trooper covered in dust.

"Hit something soft, sir!"

His heart sank. He hated this bit of retrieval. Steeling himself, he called over two more and instructed, "Shift it. Let's see who we've got."

Rocks were pulled off to reveal a rotted plank, cracked in the middle and covered in slime. As it was pulled back a putrid smell hit them from the black hole beneath.

"Phwoar, what a _stink_."

"Shut up trooper," Steele said curtly. "Bring down a light."

He clambered into the gloomy hole, almost choking as the waves of stench hit him. Grey bodies lay everywhere in the narrow tunnel, mute testimony to what had happened seven days before. He knelt by one with a shaggy black beard, pulling back the helmet to see its face.

The skin slipped under his fingers, and he leapt back in disgust. The moan that followed almost unmanned him completely.

Luckily the trooper with him had a bit more nerve, and felt the bodies' neck. "He's alive, sir!"

Steele looked closer. Yes, he was alive. The 'skin' had been slime from the tunnel walls- underneath the mans flesh was warm. The scattered packets of ration bars lay around him in the stonedust and bodily waste, like dead leaves. He moaned again.

Others had come down, checking the rest...

"More live, sir! All of these!"

"And these too! Do we take them up?"

He found his voice. "Y...yes! bring water and liquid food! Hurry!"

Coughs sounded as the dust was stirred, and he dragged the bearded man into the daylight. It was a clear day, the sun almost warm as spring approached. Medics hurried over, water was brought.

Steele heard words in the mutterings of his patient...

"Too high... blasted fool..."

"What's he saying sir?"

Steele shrugged. "Just rambling. See to the others."

"Yessir."

It started again as the trooper left-

"Knew it...aimed too high...I'll deliver... you daft old bugger, I knew it... damn Imp..."

He tried to reassure the delirious man, saying gently, "What do you have to deliver, trooper?"

The man opened bloodshot eyes, pressed something in his hand. It was a flower, delicately carved from golden-brown wood. The whorls in the grain caught the light.

"D'katar... deliver it... father..."

Steele started. D'katar was an old friend from HQ, a pretty girl with dark hair and eyes, and a smile that drove her fellow male officers crazy. He squeezed the dusty hand in his.

"I'll deliver it, trooper. Don't worry."

The mans' smile filled his face, a sun in a grey winter sky.

"Kept it safe... say hi for me..."

"I will, trooper. You, bring him some water!"

"Not D'katar...Imp..."

"Imp, what Imp?"

"Imp said hi..."

"He's raving! Hurry with that water!"

"Promised... say hi from father..."

A corporal ran over. "Here sir."

The half-dead sergeant smiled as the water slid down his throat and he looked at the sun. from the ground, it looked almost like a rocket, or a glowrod turned gold...

"Life-Day," he sighed happily. "Thank you, commander."

Hake slept quietly in the arms of the lieutenant, while the universe wheeled around them.

Above the sun burned, slowly turning.

Glowing bright, ready to lead them home.

000O000

I need reviews for this, its my first ever OC-based fanfic. I need to know if it was crap or not...

Working on more, but no worries. No more OC for a while :)


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